Days on which there are things to be said about the materialistic world stifling the higher mind and blocking human evolution, about the magic to be found in sensing what the sensory faculties miss, about the need to obey new personal truths as we find them along the path, about the meaning of anam cara.
But then a combination of fatigue and the insidious systems devised by those who would be rich and powerful blocked every attempt to say them.
How fortunate that I dislike being earnest.
(I’m too tired to know whether I should post this or not. I expect I will.)